Female Bonding

Women, it used to be said, do not sweat.

Women do not perspire.

Women glow.

So picture, if you will, seven women, six of whom are in their 70s, glowing together as they sit on sofas and chairs in a handsome hillside home in Tarzana.

Outside it’s something like 103 degrees. Inside the un-air-conditioned living room, a few women unfurl Oriental fans as their two male visitors--one with notebook, one with camera--wipe manly beads of sweat from their brows.

Soon it is obvious that the glow of the women is not just a matter of heat. Here too is the warmth of an extraordinary circle of friends, a bond strengthened over decades.

“The group” is how they usually refer to themselves. No member has ever heard of another quite like theirs, certainly not one with such longevity. For 43 years the group, now numbering a dozen, has met more or less monthly to share explorations of philosophy, history and art. The Culture Club is the name they adopted. To hear them describe it, this suburban sisterhood might be considered a sorority of the spirit.

We were at Beverly June Hanson’s home--fitting because B.J., as they call her, is both a founder and, as member Carmelita Johnson put it, “the leader of the pack.” Clockwise from my left sat Twila Cook, Pat Poitras, Hanson, Johnson, Peggy Sundermeier, Joyce Jaykway and Amy Smith. Jaykway, 58, comes from another generation. There’s a story to that, which we’ll come to later.

To begin at the beginning, flash back to 1950, when B.J. Hanson was still living “in town,” in the mid-Wilshire area. This was an era when American women were expected to stay home and rear a family rather than pursue a career. B.J. and her friend Cherolyn “Cherry” Matthews, both of an intellectual bent, found succor in a reading group. Then the Hanson and Matthews families moved to the Valley.

At about this time the University of Chicago published the “Great Books of the Western World,” a multivolume compendium of philosophy and literature covering 2,500 years of thought. B.J. ordered a set. Rather than try to tackle the Great Books alone, she invited Cherry and a few women she’d met playing volleyball in a city parks league to join in the endeavor.

“Most of the women were just jocks,” B.J. recalled. “But some looked like they had something going on upstairs.”

The group did not tackle such headline topics as, say, the Cold War. With the Great Books as their text, the first topic was nothing less than the nature of Truth itself. Unlike many book groups, whose members read and discuss the same work, these women would each study a selected thinker-- perhaps Plato or Aquinas or Shakespeare--and share their impressions with the group.

“I had Hegel,” recalls Peggy Sundermeier, 79. “Well, I had never heard of Hegel. . . . But we got to the point where we could understand it.”

Conversation would readily veer from philosophical abstractions to the stuff of everyday life. Some women would come and go, for various reasons. Those who could not tolerate a free and frank conversation would, as B.J. put it, “weed themselves out.” Among those who could, the bond became strong.

Consider Twila and Pat, sitting side by side. Twila is a born-again Christian who teaches Bible class. Pat is an atheist. They are close friends.

Through the ‘50s and ‘60s the group would meet, talking about anything and everything, commiserating over problems. Sometimes they would go to concerts or plays. In the ‘60s, B.J. and four other members formed their own little investment group, contributing $5 monthly to a fund. They invested wisely.

By 1972 the five women realized they had made enough money to take a trip to Hawaii. As they made their plans, their stocks kept rising, their kitty kept growing.

“At first we thought we might invite our husbands along,” B.J. recalls.

“Then we decided: To heck with the husbands, we’re going to Europe!”

Other members were invited along. Twila took a part-time job at McDonald’s to pay her way on the three-week tour through England, France, Switzerland, Italy and Greece.

To prepare, they immersed themselves in the history and culture of the lands they would visit. In the years to come they would educate themselves for journeys to the Middle East in 1978, the People’s Republic of China in 1981 (not long after it opened to tourism), and Spain, Portugal and Morocco in 1985.

Often they break into smaller groups to attend “Elderhostels”--educational outings for senior citizens. In Oregon members attended a Shakespeare festival. In Monterey they studied Steinbeck and marine biology. This is all in addition to nine meetings annually, skipping the summer, and an annual weekend retreat to La Casa de Maria, a former convent in Montecito.

A scrapbook comes out and some of the women missing at this unofficial meeting are pointed out. Rosario Gamez, Mary Becker, Lawana Andre and Jessie Dahl all live in the Valley and make most meetings. Alice Helms, a founding member, now lives in Palo Alto but still attends the retreat.

“That’s Marian Sederberg,” says Joyce Jaykway, pointing out a smiling, white-haired woman in the center of a group. “She died last year. She was a lady Marine in World War II. Up at the Casa a couple of years ago, she brought out her old uniform. . . . You meet these women and you don’t know what’s under there.”

The point is unstated, yet seems clear. Learning about life from Great Books and great thinkers is all well and good. Learning from great friends is vital.

Joyce says she had no greater friend than her mother, the late Cherry Matthews. This explains why a woman in her 50s is hanging out with these septuagenarians.

“This group is my legacy.”

The group had watched Joyce grow up. When Cherry’s health began to fail in the early 1980s, Joyce escorted her mother to their meetings.

Once upon a time, the group had considered inviting their daughters, but quickly nixed the idea. Having daughters present, they realized, might stifle the conversation among peers.

But this was different. Sometimes Cherry was so weak that Joyce did the assignments for her.

“This was very purposeful on her part, because she was my best friend,” Joyce says. “It really was her gift to me.

“Her friends became my friends.”

*

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to him at The Times’ Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth 91311, or via e-mail at scott.harris@latimes.com Please include a phone number.